


Be Still With Me

by tarnera



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Budding relationships, Friendship, Gen, M/M, No beta we die like mne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarnera/pseuds/tarnera
Summary: A series of drabbles about Quinlan and Fox's friendship and building relationship.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/Quinlan Vos
Comments: 21
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These aren't connected (unless I specifically mention they are) and may be set in 'alternate universes' where the other drabbles never happened. Some will be in true AUs. I'll mention when they are.
> 
> The title is from Imogen Heap's 'You Know Where To Find Me'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Pull over, let me drive.'

From where he was sitting in the passenger seat of the small shuttle, Quinlan watched Fox blink and shake his head slightly for the third time. He hadn’t said anything until now, but if the commander was that tired… “Hey, Fox.” He kept his voice soft, not wanting to startle Fox. “Pull over. Let me drive for a while.”

Fox frowned, expression sharpening slightly but not glancing away from the viewport. “I’m fine, Vos.”

“I know.” You’re always fine, Quinlan didn’t add, and he was careful to keep any worry out of his tone. “But we’re just going back to the barracks, yeah? I know the way. So… please?” he tried his most charming smile. “Let me do this, at least.”

Fox held out for another moment before his shoulders slumped. “...if you’re going to insist, I guess I have no choice.”

Quinlan grinned despite the words. If Fox wanted to pretend that he was being ordered to let Quinlan drive, Quinlan would take his victory quite happily. Especially as, once they had swapped places and Quinlan was carefully pulling into traffic, he could feel Fox slowly relaxing into the passenger seat. A quick sidelong glance told him the good commander had even closed his eyes, apparently tired enough he was allowing himself this rare luxury.

Quinlan kept his comments and smiles to himself, focusing on keeping the ride as smooth as possible so Fox could get some rest along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have seen this one already on my tumblr, but I finally have at least one more chapter lmao... and a few more I need to polish up. Hopefully I'll get them done soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'It reminded me of you'

Fox blinked down at the loosely-wrapped package that had been thrust into his hands, momentarily nonplussed. “Er… thanks?” He really wasn’t sure how to respond, but thanking anyone for a gift, especially if they were a Jedi, seemed like a good first step.

Vos grinned like he couldn’t quite help himself. “It reminded me of you. You don’t have to use it… or even keep it if you don’t want to. But I wanted you to have it.”

Fox frowned, hesitating. This really wasn’t the best time; he had paperwork to do, an inspection to plan, patrols to assign, an upcoming meeting with the Chancellor… but Vos didn’t seem interested in moving, and if Fox was being honest there would never really be a good time for this sort of thing.

Biting back a sigh of exasperation, Fox carefully started pulling apart the plain brown wrapping material. The faster he appeased the weird Jedi that had taken an interest in him, the faster he could--

He removed the last layer and abruptly lost that train of thought.

It was a mug. Set against the pure white slightly-curved surface was unmistakably a fox, fur painted in Coruscant Guard red. The animal sat primly, both pointed ears visible and warm golden eyes staring out inquisitively, head tilted slightly to one side. The tail swept around the circumference of the cup until it curled up and smoothly transitioned to become the beautifully-carved handle.

Cradling it in his palms carefully, Fox turned it slightly, feeling mesmerized by how the surface of the mug seemed to almost glow. There were slight imperfections in the work--stray lines where a brush hadn’t quite been neat, making the fox’s fur look bristly in places; a slight bump where the material of the mug hadn’t been completely smooth before the paint had been applied. His fingers, sliding over the surface, caught slightly on a rough patch where the glaze was a little too thin. This was no mass-produced item that Vos had spotted in a shop on one of his travels and picked up on a whim. In fact, Fox would go so far as to wager Vos had commissioned this. From a sentient craftsbeing, even. No clanker would have made those mistakes.

A faint noise made Fox look up from his inspection of the gift. Vos was still smiling, but now the expression looked rather strained, like he might be regretting making Fox open the package in front of him. Abruptly, the commander realized he had taken far too long with his examination, and Vos hadn’t noticed (or more likely, was actively preventing himself from checking) how Fox felt about the mug.

Fox couldn’t simply say how much he liked the mug; aside from not even having the words to express it, the time had long passed for any thanks or praise he had to come across as anything but insincere. He would just have to find a way to show Vos, instead.

Clearing his throat a little, he crossed the tiny break room the Jedi had cornered him in, and reached for the pot of caf to pour his new mug full. “Was there anything else you needed, sir?” It was still an inadequate response, but it was what Fox had to fall back on. He at least tried to project warmth and sincerity into the words, hoping that the fact he was using the mug immediately would be enough to show his intentions.

Given that Vos immediately relaxed, smile going wide and happy again, it seemed to have done the trick. “Nah, I just wanted to make sure I gave that to you before I left.” The Kiffar turned, practically bouncing out the door now that his errand was done. “I’m glad you like your gift, Foxy!”

He was gone before Fox could tell him not to abuse his name that way, but the clone found himself snorting into his caf despite that, not quite able to repress a small smile of his own.

Ridiculous man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me writing this: caf? caff? kaf?
> 
> Also I still don't like the word mug for this but at least I got over it enough to finish it sob.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'No, no, it's my treat'

Fox nodded at the server droid as it set down his drink, trying to act natural. Did normal people smile at droids? Would the droid notice if they did? What the hell was he even doing here, he had no idea how nat-borns acted--

Trying to quash those thoughts before they got to him, Fox fumbled for a credit chip to give to it. Across the table, his partner in this stupid operation waved at the droid. “No, no, it’s my treat. Keep your credits, Vixen, this is all going on my tab.”

The droid stared at them for a moment, apparently processing that. “Let me know if I can get you boys anything else,” it stated tonelessly, in a way that was probably intended to come across as flirtatious. Without waiting for a reply it scooted away to attend to another table that was flagging it down.

Left to their own devices, Fox discreetly edged a little closer to Quinlan Vos as he took a sip of his drink to cover a glance around the room. “Any sign of the target?”

Vos hummed a negative. “Relax, Vixen. We don’t have anywhere to be, and the information was solid. He’ll be here.”

Fox hated everything about this assignment, present company most definitely included. He gritted his teeth against the knee-jerk impulse to snap at Vos for calling him that; it was more important neither of them were recognized. The mission came first, always. Fox would survive, even if his dignity was taking quite the hit tonight.

Speaking of… he futilely tugged at the hem of the ridiculous sheer purple top he’d been strong-armed into, Vos cheerfully commenting on how ‘we don’t want anyone looking at your face, commander!’ at the time. Fox snorted softly at the memory; there was no chance of that.

It was more than a little embarrassing how the fabric clung to his pectorals like an overly friendly tooka. Fox wasn’t exactly body-shy, but… well. There was a difference between not caring if his brothers saw him naked and making strange men in shady bars walk into the wall whenever they got a good look at his chest. Vos certainly wasn’t wearing anything out of the ordinary, for him; just the usual sleeveless shirt. Then again, that did fit right in with the crowd they were trying to mingle with. Without any armor or symbols identifying them as a Jedi and a clone, Vos looked like a bounty hunter cosying up to a prostitute. Even if Fox hated it, it was the perfect cover.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of another customer slinking into the bar, and then Vos was leaning right into his personal space. It happened so quickly Fox had to fight his instincts, going rigid before he flinched back or did something foolish like punching a general in the middle of a stakeout operation. A murmur in his ear, “That’s him, get ready to move on my signal,” Vos not quite touching but it was close enough to look good for anyone watching.

“Sir,” he acknowledged, just as softly, tilting his head toward Vos so they could speak more quietly, and it was as if it suddenly registered just how close the Jedi was. If Fox leaned forward just a little, they would be touching. He had to swallow against… something, he wasn’t sure exactly what, and it felt like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. He was suddenly hyperaware of how warm Vos felt, the fact that he smelled faintly of sweat and something spicy, how the stripe of color over his nose almost seemed to glow in the dimly-lit room.

“Vixen…?” The hated nickname caught his attention at least, and he blinked, trying to focus on what they were doing here instead of… whatever this was. Vos smiled, slow and wicked, and Fox’s heart did something very strange. The Jedi leaned forward just a touch more, but instead of the kiss Fox had been halfway expecting, Vos gently laid a finger over his lips. Fox could feel the warmth of his hand even through the leather gloves the Kiffar was wearing, and he had to swallow again, suddenly feeling overwarm despite his skimpy attire. “How about we go back to my place, sweetheart?”

It was the code phrase saying that the target was on the move, but Fox felt his face growing warm despite that knowledge. “S-sure,” he managed, and when Vos pulled back he let the Jedi take him by the hand and pull him to his feet. He had no idea where the target had gone, and it was all he could do to not stumble over his own karking feet as he let Vos tug him along in a purposeful way.

The mission. Right. Focus. He’d clearly just had a little too much to drink, that was all. Vos cast him one last smirk over his shoulder, and then they were running.

Fox put the last hour out of his mind, and resolved never to think about it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened ok, the gremlin that lives in my brain thought it would be hilarious to dress Fox up in something that showed off his phat tiddies and then it promptly stole the plot and ran off with it while I chased after, screaming obscenities and waving a broom in the air. Fox is currently swimming in the Nile but don't worry he'll get revenge next chapter! Sort of. You'll see :3
> 
> Also an amazing quote that a friend of a friend said recently about something totally different, but I think will probably sum up these drabbles perfectly: 'Slow burn except sometimes one or both of them have a lead foot on the gas pedal.'


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Here. Let me fix it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU-ish where Padmé got to talking with Commander Fox when she was bored and learned he was witty, had a wicked sense of humor, and could hold a conversation, so she started inviting him to parties. As you do.

Quinlan sat in the (admittedly, very nice) lounge area, cooling his heels as he waited for Fox to emerge from the dressing room they’d been assigned. He also failed to hide a growing smirk at the slowly growing annoyance he could feel emanating from said room.

After a moment he rose to his feet and moseyed over to the curtain-covered doorway, now able to hear Fox quietly swearing in a dozen different languages. “Sure you don’t need any help in there?” His amusement was clear in his voice, but hopefully Fox wouldn’t mind.

There was a pause. “Vos. Get your useless shebs in here and give me a hand.” The demand was delivered in a flat growl, which spoke volumes as to the state of Fox’s stress level as well as his patience, and probably meant Quinlan needed to tread lightly.

As if. He moved through the curtain, speaking as he went. “Aww, Foxy! Is that any way to speak to your savior, especially after how you so cruelly told me to ‘get out’ not even ten minutes ago—” The words died in his throat as he caught sight of the commander, currently half-dressed in robes of deep blues and shimmering purples. They looked better on him, even crooked as they were, than they had any right to be, and Quinlan was vaguely grateful his voice stopped working when it did. It spared him from having to live down any number of undignified noises.

Completely oblivious to Quinlan’s problem, Fox was scowling down at one of the sleeves like it had personally insulted his armor paint. “I can’t get this on, it’s _stuck_. Are you sure they got my measurements right?”

Quinlan took a moment to be sure his voice would sound mostly normal when he spoke, taking a few steps into the room to excuse his silence. “Looks,” he started, but was forced to clear his throat before he could continue. “Looks like the seam got twisted around, here. Let me fix it.” One more step left him close enough to reach out and touch Fox, and he gently started tugging at and adjusting the cloth. The robes were meant to be tight, for some innocent reason Quinlan was sure, and it was going to take some careful and strategic straightening for him to free Fox from his self-made prison.

“Vos…” Fox sounded like he wasn’t sure he should continue, so Quinlan made an encouraging sound and kept his eyes carefully on what he was doing. “I… maybe I shouldn’t go to this.” Fox sounded almost uncertain, which was odd enough it got Quinlan to actually look up and meet his eyes. Fox didn’t _look_ uncertain. He looked like he might be panicking a little, which for Fox meant ‘microanalyze the situation and come up with four contingency plans for anything that could possibly go wrong.’ Right now, Quinlan had the strong suspicion that all of Fox’s plans boiled down to ‘throw myself out the nearest available window.’

“Hey, hey. Breathe. It’s gonna be fine.” Quinlan smiled, pitching his voice into something calm and soothing. “Padmé wouldn’t have invited you to this shindig if she didn’t know you could handle yourself. And I’ll be right there,” a slight tip of his head indicated the waitstaff uniform he was dressed up in, “so if you need to leave, just give me a signal. I’ll come up with an excuse for you to get out of there.”

Fox snorted, and this close Quinlan couldn’t help but pick up on his reluctant amusement. “What signal? Think ‘help me!’ really loud?”

“Sure, that’ll work,” Quinlan grinned, giving the cloth a final tug so it sat on Fox’s shoulders properly. “Or you could just flag down a waiter and ask for me. I’ll get myself assigned to whatever table you and Padmé end up at.”

Fox gave him a skeptical look, rolling his shoulders to settle the cloth and test his range of motion. “You think you can persuade them to let you wait on former royalty?”

Quinlan pressed a hand to his chest, affecting offense. “Foxy! You wound me! I’ll have you know I can be very charming.”

Wrinkling his nose, Fox complained, “Now you sound like you’re channeling General Kenobi.”

Rubbing his (beardless, alas) chin, Quinlan sniffed in a passible impersonation of his oldest friend. “Yes, precisely.”

That got Fox to actually smile, for a moment anyway. “…alright, good. But I still have no idea what I’m supposed to talk about with these… people. I really don’t think they want to hear about my paperwork, and I can’t really talk about most of the more exciting cases.”

Turning to pick up the next bit of regalia, Quinlan frowned thoughtfully. “What do you usually talk about with Senator Amidala?”

Fox was already shaking his head as he turned back to face him. “We gossip about the other senators, or trash the latest fashions if they’re awful, or complain how most senators treat their time serving the Republic as—actually I shouldn’t get into that. The point is, I can’t really use those topics of conversation in a room full of senators. Not if I want to finish dinner.” Clearly Fox seemed to think dinner was the only upside to this whole affair.

Carefully settling the heavy piece of fabric into place on Fox’s frame, Quinlan hummed. “That’s okay? Not too heavy?”

The look he got in response was kind of amazing in its level of annoyed done-ness. “It’s lighter than my armor, please give me some credit. Although—“ Fox glanced down as he helped Quinlan attach the thing to the rest of his getup. “—I’m starting to look like a Republic Day souvenir, which is something I never thought I’d say.”

Shaking his head a little, Quinlan tweaked the commander’s outfit again, trying to get it a touch straighter. “Well… you could always talk about your brothers. Tell some stories about things you’ve done with them, or something like that? That _is_ part of why Padmé is doing this, isn’t it? To show people you’re not ‘just clones’. That you and your vod’e are more than soldiers. So…” he grinned conspiratorially. “The more embarrassing the better, yeah?”

The commander’s face did something complicated as his emotions went from wary, to understanding, then straight to indignation. “But that’s—!” He cut himself off, choking down the rest of his outburst; it made Quinlan a little sad to see the evidence that no matter how far he’d managed to get past Fox’s walls, there was still more ground to go. If he wasn’t willing to yell and argue back if he didn’t like a suggestion Quinlan made, well. Quinlan would just have to work harder at convincing him that he couldn’t scare Quinlan off that easily. Or provoke Quinlan into some kind of retaliation that easily, either.

After a moment he muttered, “I’ve been gathering that blackmail material for _years_.”

“Think about it, Foxy. What better use could you put it to? Take it from me, gathering intel is great, but you have to know when to use it, and this opportunity is being handed to you on a platter.” Quinlan took Fox by the elbow to steer him out the door and down the hall toward the reception area. It was almost time for the event to start.

Fox sighed, heavily and resigned. “Fine, you’re… not wrong.” Quinlan was careful not to laugh at that, but he had to fight down a grin. “They’ll forgive me, probably. Eventually.”

“That’s the spirit! Okay, I gotta go. Knock ‘em dead!” Quinlan gave Fox a careful pat on the shoulder and darted off down a different hallway, amusement bubbling in his chest. However tonight went, it was going to be a hell of a show, and he had a front-row seat. Life didn’t get much better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this intending Quinlan to have an 'oh no he's hot' moment, but then he went 'I'mma teach him how to Do Crimes' so this is a thing now.
> 
> ...also halfway through writing this I started shipping Padmé/Quinlan/Fox, so that is also a thing now I guess.


End file.
